Aftermath
by Kgirl1
Summary: The crew of the Ghost, post-Malachor & Kanan and Hera, pre-Malachor. Now with the promised Kanan/Hera post-Malachor (with a dash of Sabine).
1. Chapter 1

Hera hadn't left his side since Kanan had returned. In the infirmary, she existed in the chair next to him, leaving only to retrieve a meal or pain medication. She slept there, her hand clutching his, head resting on his cot. Her neck and shoulders had never been so stiff, but the sensation barely registered. Love, concern, and a deep pain had consumed her. When he was finally well enough to return to the Ghost, she moved a cot into his room and slept there.

Their arrangement was under the pretense that Kanan might need something late at night, but everyone knew that they couldn't stand to be apart from each other, even for a minute. Most nights, the cot was empty. Kanan felt the blindness most crushed him late at night, when the sounds of the Ghost and its crew had died down, when the engine's hum could not be felt, when the doors were sealed and no smell of food or fresh air lingered. It was then that Hera became the connection to a world he could no longer see, could barely hear, feel, or catch the scent of. He kept himself sane through the steady beat of her heart, the reliable whisper of her breath, and the faint spice of her skin.

She grounded him. Grounded him to a world that he often feared was lost forever. Sabine's art was gone. Never again would he see the wonders her hand produced. The Mandalorian had started painting in thick smears, intentionally leaving globs of paint on the paper, raised and in an array of textures so that he could still have some sense of what she had created. She would press the paper into his hands, so he could run his fingertips along it, trying to get a sense of what she had created. He knew, even before touching it, that it was beautiful.

"See, this here, that's dark brown," she was guiding his hand along the painting, "And this patch is more of a tan." Her hand was small, warm, and she sat next to him, right leg pressed against his left. A few weeks ago, it might have felt odd, having Sabine so close to him. Now, the physical contact was something he asked his team for; it was like having proof that they were there, assurance that they hadn't sprung from his delirium.

"Mhm," Kanan murmured, smoothing his fingers across the surface. "What are these raised bumps here, polka dots?"

"Yeah, they are," she nodded, excited for him. "Can you tell what it is?" Sabine sounded hopeful, heartbreakingly so. Hera watched them from across the common room, a smile on her face but pain in her eyes.

"Hmm…" Kanan reached out to the Force. "It almost feels like… some sort of small animal?" He spread his hand further. "Wait… I know those ears! It's a Loth-cat, isn't it?"

Sabine was thrilled. "Yes!" Her elation tugged at his heart. "How do you do that?"

"Well, I wouldn't be able to, if you weren't such a good artist," he smiled. "This is one of your best."

"Kanan," Sabine groaned, but he couldn't see the delighted grin on her cheeks. "You say that every time."

"Well, it must be true," Kanan shrugged. "Jedi can't lie, you know."

Sabine snickered, and the nudge from her shaking shoulders moved his hand to a new section of the painting. "Um, what's this… sticky spot, here?"

He felt Sabine shift closer to him, and in his mind's eye, could picture her narrowing her eyes to inspect the sketch. He missed that seeing that expression on her.

Sabine gasped. "EZRA!" She jumped up, and her presence next to him vanished, replaced by the sound of feet charging down the corridor. Kanan chuckled, but his laughter faded in sync with the vanishing sound. He brushed his fingers over the painting once again and sighed.

Hera re-appeared; she was never far, even when she knew Kanan had someone with him. "It's very good," she said softly, touching his shoulder. "I think she made it to cheer Ezra up."

Kanan sniffed the residue on his fingertips. "Smells like meiloorun. At least he's finally eating again."

He heard Hera's sigh above him. "Thank the stars for that."

Ezra had been troubled since Malachor. He hadn't been sleeping well, had barely eaten. Hera had forced him to choke down a nutrition bar, only to find him retching outside the Ghost, knelt on the Atollon sand. As she comforted him, Ezra asked her not to tell Kanan. Incidents like these were happening consistently, whether over sleep, food or plain misery. Hera had stopped counting the times she had found Ezra crying, or wandering the Ghost in the middle of the night. She tried to hide most of them from her love, to protect him, but his connection with Ezra was too powerful to transcend. Kanan felt his Padawan's pain, often more acutely than his own, and there was nothing she could do to help, the one position Hera hated being put in. The guilt of Kanan's blindness hung over the boy, but slowly, he had been getting better. The Jedi had told his Padawan to stop blaming himself countless times, and it seemed the message was finally starting to sink in. As Kanan healed, they had resumed training once again, which seemed to help Ezra cope, and their bond grew stronger still, healing from the cracks that Malachor had dealt to it.

In its own way, Malachor had damaged not just those on the mission, but all of the crew. Even Chopper was less impish, more subdued.

Sabine was still an artist, but some of the joy had been lost, with the knowledge that she couldn't truly share her work with Kanan ever again. The girl usually showed Hera whatever she had created, but for whatever reason, the Jedi had a special appreciation for it. Hera was a pilot and a fighter; while she made sure to respond with well-deserved praise when Sabine was proudly displaying her artwork (few things brought out her maternal instinct more than Sabine's eager brown eyes), Kanan had always had more success in the creative area, and that was fine with her. They were partners, after all— a perfectly balanced team.

Zeb was hurting too, and far more than he let on. The only family he had left had been seriously threatened by forces he had no power to stop. The Lasat felt helpless and angry; he never should have let them go down alone. The regret grew stronger with every glance at Kanan, every anxious wring of Hera's hands, every listless response from Ezra and glob of paint Sabine added to her artwork, in an effort to make it visible to Kanan. It burned into him until the very walls of the Ghost became suffocating, and he was choosing to spend more and more of his time outside of the ship, in solitude. The desert was the one place that couldn't remind him of his regret.

Hera regretted letting them go at all; nothing had been gained, in contrast to incomparable loss: Kanan's eyes, Ezra's confidence, the morale of her crew, Ahsoka… Force knew what had become of Ahsoka. Rex had taken her disappearance especially hard.

She hated to be selfish, in times like these, when she was so needed by so many others… But she missed his eyes. They had been the loveliest teal; she had never told him this, but they reminded her of the elegant skin of her mother. Without linking them to Kanan at all, his eyes held so many blissful memories: they took her back to a time before the Clone Wars, before her father had become so power-crazed, a time when she was small enough to be held by her mother, and when her greatest concerns had been whether or not the clouds in the sky would prevent her from seeing the ships fly.

And then, when she looked beyond his eyes, to all of what Kanan was… the memories only grew. Most of them joyous, some humorous, others threaded with danger and adrenaline. His eyes held everything for her; they had been in her life so long now, that had started to encompass her most important memories. Meeting Kanan, finding each additional member of their crew, the moment when their fight had become part of something greater.

His eyes had always held something for her, whether it was a memory, a joke, or quiet, tacit love. Sometimes it was a daring suggestion, sometimes a bold plan. Occasionally, and more and more often, it was fear; occasionally, and more and more often, it was relief. After instances with Ezra and Sabine, she could glimpse pride in them, and maybe just a touch of affectionate annoyance. Throughout all of the creatures, damaged by the Empire, they had encountered in their journey, there was a touch of pity, of sympathy.

Rarely, usually regarding Order 66, was there pain. But it was one of the last things his eyes had held for her. He had tried to cover it with concern, and with confidence, and it was certainly backed by deep love, but she had seen it nonetheless. The last eyes she had seen were filled with such confliction that she had closed her own, choosing to attend to his heartbeat instead.

Ironic, that their roles had been reversed.

His eyes were gone now, lost forever. The memories were not; their love was not. Everything that was important still remained. She still knew him better than anybody, could tell what he was thinking before he had even spoken. But it was harder now, without his eyes. To say that things could ever be the same would be lying.

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After she had properly disciplined Ezra for his unwelcome addition to her painting, Sabine found Hera, who had just finished changing Kanan's bandages. The Twi'lek had taken this on as her personal duty: Ezra had been scarred by the task enough, and she and Kanan agreed that Sabine and Zeb needn't know the damage Maul had done.

"Hera, when you're done with that, can you help me for a second?"

Hera nodded. "Be right there, Sabine."

"I'll be in my bunk," Sabine informed her, heading in that direction. She heard Hera whisper, "I'll be right back, love," behind her, and soon the pilot followed. Hera recognized the setup in Sabine's room: two towels, plastic gloves and a bottle of hair dye were spread.

"Dying your hair again, Sabine?" She smiled knowingly.

"Just touching up the roots," Sabine shrugged, sitting on her bed. The pair fell into a familiar routine: Sabine sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her bed, and Hera sat behind her, arranging the towel around her shoulders.

"Really? This is normally the time you start to change it up," Hera remarked, pulling the gloves on.

Sabine's voice softened. "I'm… actually keeping it this color," she said quietly. "For Kanan."

Hera's voice caught in her throat. "What do you mean?" She spread the dye on her hands and started rubbing it into Sabine's hair.

"He picked it out," Sabine explained, and then giggled. "On accident."

"Oh?" Hera inquired. The Twi'lek's fingers were soothing on Sabine's scalp, and her sensitive touch helped coax the story out.

"It was a supply run, a while back. I had to stay to pilot the Phantom, so I asked him to pick up the dye for me," she laughed softly. "I gave him the right color, brand, number and everything, but… he brought back this one instead. I didn't know until we were in hyperspace, and I didn't want to make him feel bad."

Hera laughed out loud. "Sabine, that last sentence could describe my entire relationship with Kanan."

Sabine giggled. "I think there's a lot more to it than that, but still funny."

Hera's hands slowed for a moment, and her voice dropped to a reflective murmur. "I suppose there is."

After a moment, she resumed her original speed, massaging the dye carefully and precisely into Sabine's roots, and cleared her throat. "This is a good color on you."

Sabine's voice softened next. "It was the color of his eyes."

The motion on her scalp abruptly stopped. Worried she had said too much, Sabine turned her head back. "Hera, I'm sorry—"

"No," Hera shook her head, blinking her eyes tightly against tears. "It's beautiful. I'm glad you told me."

Sabine turned her head forward once again, but she had caught a glimpse of Hera's sorrow. The pilot was always so composed, glimpses of emotion from her were rare. To see even a crack in her composure meant that something was deathly wrong. The idea of Hera staying so strong for all of them, concealing and pushing her own grief aside to protect her crew, created a sadness inside the Mandalorian so deep that it burned her up. Tears started to sting her eyes, and unable to bear it any longer, she shook her head, knocking Hera's hands away.

"Sabine, what's—"

She thrust herself onto the bed and into Hera's chest. "I want it to stay the way he remembers me," she choked out, clinging to her mentor.

Hera was struck and saddened by the display of emotion. She yanked the gloves off as fast as she could and hugged the girl, who had never before seemed so fragile. "Oh, Sabine…" she whispered, stroking her back.

"I know it's stupid," Sabine mumbled into her shoulder.

"Hey," Hera said firmly. "It's not stupid. It's sweet, and thoughtful, and compassionate and kind. _That's_ how Kanan remembers you. As brave, and beautiful, and talented and hopeful and curious and clever and strong. Not by your hair or your armor, but by your heart."

Sabine's shoulders quaked with a restrained sob, and she clutched Hera tighter.

"He doesn't need his eyes to see any of that," Hera murmured, stroking her hair, "And he's not going to forget it anytime soon." She kept her fingers running soothingly through Sabine's locks until the girl stopped shaking. Sabine sniffed, and lifted her head, sitting up on her own.

She turned to her mother figure and gave a weak smile. "Thanks, Hera."

"Anytime, dear." Hera's voice was warm and sincere. Sabine's gaze drifted downward.

"Hera, your hands!" She gasped in dismay. Hera looked down as well; her emerald skin had been stained teal, starting most brightly at her fingers and then fading down the length of her hands.

The pilot just chuckled. "It's a good color. I don't mind." She took one colorful hand and gently pushed Sabine's bangs back, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Now we match."

Sabine watched in awe as Hera stood, and turned to her just in front of the door. "Let that dye sit for a while. If you need with anything else, let me know."

"Thanks," she whispered, her voice coming out softer than intended. As Hera departed, Sabine brought her fingertips to her forehead, touching the spot as if she could preserve the moment it accompanied.

Before returning to Kanan, Hera found a clean white bandage, and wiped her hands on it. Most of the dye had dried, but the faint streaks that came out were a lovely teal. She surveyed the cloth in satisfaction, figuring she could save it for a special occasion, and stored it, making her way back to Kanan.

"Everything alright with Sabine?" He asked, as he reached out for her hand.

Hera grasped his and sat with him. "She's just re-touching her hair. She really likes that blue you so carefully picked out," she teased.

"Ugh," Kanan facepalmed. "I _knew_ I had gotten the wrong one, but she never said anything!"

"She didn't want to hurt your feelings," Hera laughed at her lover's indignation. "Seriously, she likes it. She's going to keep it that way for a while."

"Good," Kanan nodded. "Saves me the trouble of trying to picture her with a different color." His tone was somewhat jocular, but like most of their recent exchanges, a sadness hung beneath it. Hera sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"You should rest," he murmured.

"I'm not tired," Hera shook her head and lifted it, moving to stand, but he pulled her back to her seat.

"You realize I know when you're lying, right?" Kanan chuckled and wrapped an arm around his love. "Rest. You need it."

Hera opened her mouth to retort, but changed her mind, letting her head fall back to his shoulder instead. Kanan relaxed too; it was a relief to be taking care of her for a change.

 **A/N: I'm thinking about doing a Kanera follow-up to this, because they are perfect and deserve it (and because still reeling from that season finale). Hope you liked!**


	2. Before-math

**A/N: At the end of "Mystery of Chopper Base", when Kanan and Hera are embracing, they each shift a little bit— he lifts his head and settles it back down, and she steps even closer to him. I have this headcannon that, even though we don't hear them (and I think the intent is that we're not supposed to) they're each saying "I love you". This is a zoom-in of each of their thoughts during that last final goodbye, so I suppose it's more of a "Before-math" (haha), but I thought it fit well with this fic.**

"Hera…"

She stiffened at the sound of his voice. It was soft, entreating, raw and implicative, all at the same time. It was the voice that knew her as well as she knew herself, and it seeped through her skin and soaked into her soul. Hera blinked away any expression, pulled her shoulders back and her mouth into a tight smile before turning around to face him. He would not see her crumbling into a thousand separate pieces.

"I told the Commander that the site is secure and operations can resume," she said brightly.

He was wringing his hands; a rare, old tic of his that only popped up when he was extraordinarily anxious. The action betrayed how desperately he wanted to believe in his next words. "We're going to be okay. You know that, right?"

He had cut to the chase, seen right through her act, as he so often did. Well, two could play at that game. Hera shifted her weight, raising an eyebrow and placing a hand on her hip as her lips pursed in doubt. "You realize I know when you're lying, right?"

Kanan deflated, and she sighed, taking a step closer to him. The Twi'lek tried to shirk the emotional armor she had been wearing all day. In that moment, she was not Phoenix Leader any more than he was Jedi; they were only Hera and Kanan, with no roles to play.

"Whatever you're facing, I wanted us to face it together," she said.

"We'll see each other again," he assured. "I promise."

His hands were strong and warm on her shoulders, and when he pulled her into his arms, she let him; for once, Hera didn't have the energy to fight. She wasn't sure if it was a promise he should make, and they both knew it was a promise he couldn't keep. But it was a promise, nonetheless, and at the moment it was all she had. She clung to it as tightly as he clung to her, and the Twi'lek didn't know if the embrace signified an apology, a vow or a goodbye. Too weary to decipher it, she let her head rest against his chest, her eyes finally falling closed. Hera tried to savor the moment with her love, knowing that it could very well be their last. It was a familiar position, and it brought some modicum of comfort, in the tumultuous day they had been living.

Kanan was relieved to feel her relax. The Jedi couldn't have been more grateful for their height disparity, as he wore a look of apprehension as clearly as he did the green tunic. He held Hera tightly, ashamed that Sabine had needed to be the one to alert him to her grief. The Twi'lek hid her emotions scarily well; he liked to think that he had solved the science of reading her, but when she was really trying, even he had trouble discerning her mood. It was what made her such a strong leader, but he sometimes worried she held herself to impossibly high standards, the kind that caused a person to implode without so much as a warning spark.

He realized that he might have left without ever realizing how worried she was, and he hated himself for it. He had been so caught up in the realm of the Jedi that he had forgotten what anchored him to the world around him: his crew, but especially its pilot. And though he hadn't been looking for it before, and though she had been trying her best to hide it from him, Kanan now felt Hera's pain crashing in the Force like a Seelos sandstorm. He pulled her tighter, as if he could protect her from it; as if he could protect any of them from what was about to come.

But to do that, Kanan knew had to go to Malachor. He was finished with running from the Inquisitors; he had to take an offensive stance. It was the only way to protect Hera and her crew, the base, and the Rebellion that she held so close to her heart. As much as he didn't want to leave her, he cared about her and those things too much to sit back doing nothing, waiting for the Inquisitors to discover them. He couldn't remember the last time one of them had pursued a mission without the other, and he knew that was a massive emotional component for both.

And he was taking Ezra, too. Ezra, who was just a kid; Ezra, whom Hera had come to see as a son.

Ezra, the Padawan to whom the Dark Side called. His vision in the Temple had buzzed incessantly in the back of mind. Kanan did not know what Malachor would hold, but a deep, instinctual part of him, a part he was trying to hide from Hera as desperately as she had tried to hide her sorrow from him, dreaded it.

Hera had enough weighing on her; thanks to the Force, he knew that better than anybody, and wouldn't dream of adding more to the pile. Perhaps he would share his concerns with her when they returned; with any luck, she could tease him about how he had been worried for nothing.

Even as he imagined it, a sinking feeling in his stomach told Kanan the reverie wasn't true. But for now, he was content just to be her rock, to let her weight fall onto his chest, and with it, absorb some of her distress. It was the least he could do.

Until Malachor, it would be all he could do.

After Malachor, he didn't know if he would be able to do anything for her at all.

"I love you," he murmured. He had promised her his love long ago, wordlessly and without even realizing it, but now he felt the pressing need to say it out loud.

Hera's voice was small. "I know, love."

At least there was one promise he didn't have to worry about breaking. The promise that he would see her again was a foolish one, he knew it the second it left his lips; but the space between them had felt so hollow, he desperately needed to fill it with something. Kanan didn't need the Force to tell him that Hera needed him and Ezra to survive.

He refused to let himself think about the alternative.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here's that Kanera follow-up I mentioned in the first chapter. I think it effectively brings this story to a close, but make sure to check out 'Rebels Behind the Scenes' for more spacefamily bonding. P.S. I think I've watched the season three trailer at least once a day since it came out. P.P.S. Hugs to everyone who reviewed.**

When they had returned from Malachor, everything had been a blur: the air thick with questions and gasps, Ahsoka's name heard over and over again, rumors already flying about, Ezra's strange, heavy silence pervading it all. But Hera heard none of it, saw none of it. The noise faded into a dull thunder, like she was hearing it from underwater. The only thing she processed, the only thing coursing through her, was Kanan, his name pulsing in her ears like her own heartbeat.

 _Ba-bum._

 _Ba-bum._

 _Ka-nan._

 _Ka-nan._

She guided him into the medbay, she sat quietly with him as the covering was removed and his wounds cleansed, she held his hand as he gritted his teeth and eventually cried out against the agony, and she stayed when the droid had left him with clean bandages and a heavy dose of anesthesia. Their comrades had come and gone, and she had answered their questions, accepted their condolences, and sent them away without processing their visits. Eventually, the roar of background sound faded to a murmur, and then to nothing; the stony silence of medical, penetrated only by the beep of a single monitor, like a still pool of water rippled again and again by the same droplet, prevailed. But even then, Kanan's name remained, consuming her attention. She hadn't the faintest concept of time, or how long she had been sitting at his bedside; her moments were measured by the pulse she felt under her fingertips, joining the rhythm in her head.

 _Ba-bum._

 _Ba-bum._

 _Ka-nan._

 _Ka-nan._

Another name broke the silence.

"Hera?"

It took her a moment to process the sound of her own name; she had thought his so much, it had almost become a part of her (more a part of her than he already was).

Hera turned her head, and upon recognizing her visitor, tried to look upbeat. "Hey, Sabine."

"Hi." Sabine looked fraught, wringing her hands and looking as if she wished there was a paintbrush in them. "Can I come in?"

"Of course."

Sabine did, and pulled a chair up next to Hera. The Twi'lek remained still, leaning over Kanan with her hand wrapped around her wrist as if one of them, Sabine wasn't sure which, was anchoring the other to life. Hera was staring at him, too; the same intent way she stared at Ezra when he had some mischief to confess, though Sabine didn't know what offense Kanan had committed.

Maybe getting injured, when Hera had been powerless to stop it.

After a few minutes of oppressive silence, the girl cleared her throat.

"Are you okay?"

Hera blinked a few times as if roused from a trance, and Sabine stumbled to cover for the abruptness of her query.

"I mean, I was in earlier, so I know Kanan's as okay as he can be." Hera frowned and tried to remember the Mandalorian visiting, only to find with some guilt that she couldn't. Sabine continued. "But you've been in here for hours."

Hera took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Sabine, I should be asking if _you're_ okay. It's been so crazy, I know I've been distant since they got back, and I'm sorry—"

"No, Hera, I'm asking you." Somewhat bluntly, the Mandalorian cut her captain off, but then her voice softened."You don't have anything to apologize for, you're worried about him. But I'm worried about you."

The truth that Sabine would never hear was that Hera was exhausted. Her throat hurt, from fighting the rising lump in it for so long. At least half of her limbs had fallen asleep, and the harsh lights of the med center had given her a headache that had dulled only because she'd stopped paying attention to it. She could no longer distinguish between anger or grief, she had been trapped between both for so long, and even her lekku felt heavy with sorrow.

But none of that mattered; she couldn't show any of it. She was Hera Syndulla, Phoenix Leader, Captain of the _Ghost,_ member of the Rebellion. People looked up to her, depended on her. With so many people to be strong for, she couldn't spare so much as a moment of weakness. Shedding tears was a luxury she couldn't afford. Her sorrow was a burden she would carry alone, with her chin up and shoulders back, to be released only in solitude. She refused to so much as tell Sabine it was on her shoulders.

So she swallowed, hard, and forced a brightness that matched the med center lights into her voice. "I'm fine."

And no matter how hard Hera tried to hide it, Sabine saw it then, the faintest quiver of her bottom lip, before her mouth pressed back into a firm line. The Twi'lek always hid everything so well, but it was the same trace of weakness, of true heartache, that she had glimpsed when the Jedi were preparing to leave for Malachor. At least then she had been able to do something about it— sending Kanan to approach Hera. But now, she felt utterly helpless, unable to do a thing to amend her captain's sorrow, and it fueled the slow burn of anger within her.

"Okay," Sabine said slowly, accepting the lie for the time being as a favor to her captain. "When was the last time you ate, or slept?"

The ghost of a wry smile touched Hera's cheeks, which suddenly looked hollow, but she didn't lift her gaze from the floor. "How long ago did they leave?"

Sabine facepalmed, an action she had now performed for both halves of the pair. When she lifted her head, her eyes searched the room and found inspiration. "If I bring that cot over here, will you at least lie down?"

Hera frowned. "Sabine, you don't need to take care of me," she said. The Mandalorian had already gotten up.

"Well, somebody needs to, and I probably owe you one anyways." She pushed the gurney towards them. Hera frowned at her over the sterile white sheet, and Sabine stared back, her chin lifted in defiance. But eventually, Sabine's eyes dropped, and all the impudence drained out of her stance.

"Please, Hera," she said. "You need to rest."

Hera sighed, and heaved her body onto the mattress as if her legs were duracrete. She turned on her side, but never let go of Kanan's wrist.

"I'll take a shift watching," Sabine said, and dropped into Hera's chair. It had accrued the kind of warmth that only hours of ceaseless occupation could cause. The Twi'lek dragged her eyes from Kanan to Sabine until fatigue overcame her, and against her will, they fell shut. Eyes finally closed, Hera dropped into sleep like a ship dropping out of hyperspace, Kanan's pulse her only lullaby. As her breathing slowed, Sabine exhaled a sigh of relief. It was followed by one that was not her own. She looked around in bewilderment, trying to locate the source of the exhalation, but someone's voice answered her confusion. It was raspy, weak and muddled by the dregs of anesthesia, but it was unmistakably Kanan's.

"Can't believe you got her to sleep," the Jedi mumbled.

Sabine gasped. "Kanan!" She shot a look over at Hera, to make sure the pilot hadn't woken up, and Kanan seemed to sense it.

"Don't worry. She's usually a light sleeper, but after today, she'll be out cold."

Sabine laughed; she wasn't sure if it was relief, elation, or even just the warmth of Kanan knowing Hera so well, but it felt good in her chest. "How long were you awake?"

He shrugged. "Not long. But I knew she'd never sleep if I woke up." Slowly, Kanan brought his hand across his body and fumbled for Hera's, the one that was still holding his wrist. "You can learn a lot of things from Hera, Sabine, but make sure you learn this— the person who takes care of everyone always forgets to take care of their self." He threaded his fingers through the Twi'lek's, and Sabine watched as his lips turned up in a smile.

"Taking care of Hera's my job," he chuckled. "But I appreciate you stepping in. You're a good kid, Sabine." Even though they were bandaged, she was certain his proud smile reached his eyes, and Sabine felt her own stinging with tears that she refused to let fall.

"Thanks, Kanan."

She stayed with him for a while longer, until he had drifted off as well, and left the two to sleep with their hands intertwined. Sabine felt that they more than deserved it. She came back later, intending to drop off a nutrition bar for when Hera woke up, but the Twi'lek was already awake.

Sabine watched through the window, as Hera looked down to the fingers that held her own, and then moved her lips in what she assumed was a soft "Kanan?"

The Jedi opened his eyes and started to say something back, and Hera launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck. Sabine waited for a moment, but Hera didn't move away, and Kanan's arms came around her waist, holding her tight. Once again, Sabine decided to give the pair privacy, and slipped away.


End file.
